


The Wolf's Teeth Are Red

by cedarcliffe



Series: Outside the Door [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, F/M, Incest, M/M, Mild Gore, Pre-Canon, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sibling Incest, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wincest - Freeform, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarcliffe/pseuds/cedarcliffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her name was Emily, and she was beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf's Teeth Are Red

Sam went to Stanford to get away from Dean.

He didn't admit it to himself for a long time. Not when he first had the thought to leave. Not when he started considering it practically. Not when he sat through the SATs, or when he started looking at colleges, or when he sent out applications. Not when he got the full ride. Didn't admit it when he started making plans to go, how to break it to dad, how to break it to Dean. Didn't admit that his brother was the reason he was leaving up until the night he bought his ticket and ran.

\--

Her name was Emily, and she was beautiful. Bright, light eyes, maybe blue, maybe green, and hair that spilled over her shoulders like spun gold. Her voice was deep and warm, her laugh contagious, hips narrow, legs long and pale. 

Sam wanted her, but she was Dean's.

It made him jealous. But confusingly unsure of who, exactly, he was jealous of. He kept thinking bitterly of Dean enjoying her, slipping between her soft thighs and licking her collarbone, only to find himself a moment later thinking bitterly of her enjoying him, of his hands roaming over her skin, his tongue in her mouth. The whole thing left him feeling edgy and irritable.

Which is probably why, when he came home to hoarse cries and creaking bedsprings, he didn't just turn around and leave like he usually did. Too annoyed, too frustrated, fuck 'em both. He made a beeline for his brother's door and didn't hesitate, didn't knock, just shoved it open with his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth and a snarled reprimand forming on his lips.

Dean was inside of Emily.

Dean was wrist-deep in her stomach, feeling around inside of her while she choked and wept and thrashed weakly against the cuffs that held her tight to the headboard, kicking, her hips bucking, Dean kneeling on her thighs to keep her still, both of them naked. Blood soaking into the towels laid out beneath them on the stripped bed. And the look on Dean's face. Surprised, almost, but glazed with wonder, like he couldn't believe this was happening, like he was in a dream. Eyes bright, sparkling green, tip of his tongue curling over his front teeth, mouth gaping wide and slack as he breathed, the inside of his mouth so pink, so red. His expression open but contorted. Ecstasy. Pure, sweet bliss. All-consuming, dizzying happiness, so much it almost looked like pain.

Sam turned and walked out. He walked all the way to the bus station, didn't realize until he was sitting down to wait that he didn't have anything but his wallet and his cellphone.

He thought about going back, but only for a moment.

 

\--

 

Sad fact was, Sam wasn't really surprised by it. He'd known for a long time that his brother wasn't quite right, wasn't quite whole. He'd known it in his bones when he was little, in his belly when he was young, in his heart when he was old enough to know better. And he had known better, no mistake about that. Sam was a smart kid by anyone's standards. He could have figured it out. Should have figured it out. He just hadn't wanted to.

Thinking back now, as he boards the greyhound, dad probably knew all about it.

There were times when John looked at Dean like he was a live wire. When the days between hunts had stretched into weeks, and Dean started getting antsy, started circling the room like a caged animal, cleaning guns and re-cleaning guns and sharpening knives just to take them out and fuck them up by throwing them at trees like darts, over and over and over again. John would watch him, eyes dark as thunderclouds, occasionally growling at him to sit down, to watch his language, where the fuck is it you think you're goin' tonight, son, 'cause you sure as shit ain't takin' the car. And Dean would glare, bite his tongue and pace, and pace, and pace, but he never truly fought back, he always gave in. Always. 

Before nightfall they'd be packing up to leave. On their way to the next evil that needed killing, Dean riding shotgun with his head out the window, like a dog. Blood-hungry, on point. So eager for the next monster to gut, the next grave to ignite.

Sam saw it all.

He saw the way John would watch his eldest out of the corner of his eye. Always this look, this expression. Didn't know for years what it meant.

Until a dog they had for a while in Maine got sick, went rabid. Beautiful german shepherd mix. Smart, gentle, protective. A good guard dog, a good family dog. But when she started swaying on her feet, baring her gnashing teeth in a tight, convulsive grimace and snarling, snapping, her muzzle dripping with saliva, John hauled her outside with a .45 tucked into the small of his back, and he had that same look.

It was a long time before Sam heard the gunshot. A minute, then five, then ten, then thirty. Longer than it should have taken, and Sam was wound tight as a coiled spring beside his blank-faced brother when the plosive pop sounded some distance away.

 

\--

 

His brother wasn't bad. Not Dean, not good, beautiful Dean, who loved helping people so much. Who was always so happy at the end of a hunt, his smile crystal clear, so lovely, so full of life. He couldn't be bad. He wasn't.

Sam believed it.

He believed it.

Believed it all the way to Stanford, and for four years after that. And then no longer.


End file.
